The Wolves That Lie Dormant
by Michaela-Le-Mongoola
Summary: POST-GAME: Inquisitor Lavellan finds herself at the center of a Venatori plot to use her unique power. With the help of her Inner Circle, Lavellan must put a stop to their plans. But older powers are beginning to wake, and the only man who knows how to stop them has vanished. Soon Thedas will be at the mercy of three great powers, but what fate befalls it remains to be seen...


Hello everyone! Welcome to my first DA fanfic :) . I've wanted to write one for a while, but the very thought of attempting to write any Elvish made me cringe... but then DA:I came out, Solas ruined my life, and now I have to write something. So, here we are!

Synopsis - Almost five years after Corypheus' defeat, Inquisitor Lavellan finds herself at the center of a Venatori plot. In what becomes a race against time, Lavellan and her Inner Circle must discover just what the Venatori want with the power that she holds; but far older powers are beginning to rise, and the only man who could stop them has vanished. As three great powers clash for the fate of Thedas, the Fade and more, what shall be lost and what more shall be found?

For the romantics at heart, you've got Solavellan and Thethraghast (yup, that's what I call Varric x Cassandra - don't hate me... it's mostly just flirting, I swear!). Dorian gets a little action too.

Rated M for violence, swearing, sex, drugs rock and roll.

As you may have guessed, my Elvish is going to be rubbish. Any and all translations will be beneath the chapter, and if anybody wants to drop me a quick message on the correct phrasing/spelling/usage/construction then please feel free! I'd appreciate the input.

Also, I don't own Dragon Age or its characters at all. They belong to Bioware, so go and give them lots of money so we can have more Dragon Age :) .

Lastly, enjoy!

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><p><span>Chapter One<span>

Tel'abelas

_Her dreams were always dark now. Non-existent. Instead a mire of hushed voices and ancient whispers were all that were left in this void of her own creation, for she had drank deeply from the Well of Sorrows and was no longer permitted to pleasantly dream; to see the memories of the sun dappled though the trees in her unconsciousness, to see the faces of her clan, of her friends and family._

_Her dreams suffocated her. Creatures of memory, of twisted spirits and impossible thought clawed at her, stealing the air from her lungs and drinking the blood from her veins. They left her but an empty shell of herself. She would have screamed if she could, but her voice was stolen long ago. _

_Stolen? No, taken. _

_Did he even realise what he had done to her?_

_It was a torture with no apparent end. _

Wake up.

_And she did._

Caelan Lavellan woke to the sound of that constant whispering in her mind. Secrets that were forgotten to the ages were given to her in hushed voices and unintelligible meaning. She tried, as always, to block out that cacophony of hisses, and whilst she were able to hide from many of the minds trapped inside her own, there were always those few that were stronger than her own will, conversing in a one sided discussion with her in words she could never hope to understand. It was maddening. Why had she not let Morrigan drink from the well? Why had she abandoned all sense, just because a small voice in her head had, very suddenly, demanded it? It had been almost five years since Corypheus' defeat, and still the voices remained.

Why had she ignored Solas' pleas? He had begged her not to drink from the well, and she had gone against his better judgement.

Solas.

Even after these long years his disappearance was still too raw. Caelan pushed all thought of him aside, burying him with the majority of unending voices. It did not do to dwell on the past, for only a deep and sickening madness would await her there.

She had forced herself to move on from him, but only for her own health. And whilst she had no desire to find love in another, she found all the comfort that she needed in the presence of her friends.

Outside of her bedroom the world was still dark, though the faintest of lights grew behind the mountains beyond. The wind let out a hollow moan as it wrapped around Skyhold, whistling and howling in a vain attempt to knock the whole building from its perch.

She could not sit here alone. Instead she rose and underwent her daily preparations.

Her eyes caught her reflection as she washed her face; her skin was light, but with a permanent hint of bronze from much time spent under the sun. A bobbed mane of crimson hair framed her features – features that had once borne her vallaslin. Bright green eyes glared back at her.

With her ministrations complete, she quickly changed and left her quarters in the hope of finding company elsewhere in the hold.

She did not go wanting for long.

Dorian was in his own room, head deep in a book. The candlelight showed deep circles under his eyes – a tell-tale sign that he had been too engrossed in his reading that night.

She approached almost silently, only rousing his attention when she lifted the tome from the mage's unwilling fingers.

"Well," he began through a yawn, "that was uncalled for."

"I hardly think so, Dorian." Caelan replied with a curt chuckle. Just being in another's company was already raising her spirits.

"And I say otherwise. Can't a man have an hour's peace?"

"You've had an entire night's worth of peace. I think now might be the time to find a suitable place to stop." She looked carefully at the spine, and almost scoffed. "Isn't this Cassandra's copy?" It was one of Varric's oldest books, and it bore a tell-tale scuff on its spine.

"Hence last night's ministrations," Dorian replied with a lazy smile. "I've already infuriated her enough with all of this Seeker nonsense that she continues to bore me with; I don't exactly need another reason for her to make my life difficult."

Caelan smirked. "You're treading a dangerous line."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He took the book from her. "Still, I suppose I had better return it now, before the dragon herself wakes up."

Caelan slapped him on the shoulder, but smiled despite herself. Offering her hand, she pulled him from his seat and together they made their way to Cassandra's room, where the elf took it upon herself to return the book to its usual spot on the bookshelf. Cassandra, thankfully, remained blissfully asleep.

Closing the door quietly behind her, Caelan returned to Dorian. He wore the most devilish grin. "See? Now nobody will have their blood boiled by an angry Cassandra. But come," he stated as they left the warmth of the Inquisition's quarters and instead made their way in the direction of the library, elf following human as they spoke, "since we are both awake we may as well get a little practice in whilst everything is peaceful."

"Sera would have been proud of your antics," Caelan replied, quickly changing the subject. Going to the library would mean that she would be close to _his_ frescos, and she needed a distraction from that thought.

"What do you mean? I returned it, did I not?"

"Point taken," she gave him a smile, but it quickly faded. "I miss the old days, Dorian."

"This place was certainly more lively back then," he agreed, his eyes hardening.

She continued, "I miss everyone; the days when we were all here. Together. A ragtag bunch of the most unlikely friends."

"I never would have described Vivienne as a friend," Dorian scoffed, though Caelan caught the slight crack in his voice that betrayed his thoughts to be otherwise.

Though the Inquisition had grown in the years that followed in the wake of Corypheus' defeat, many of Caelan's inner circle had vanished or left. Solas had been the first, followed by Vivienne; she had quickly returned to both her Circle and her position at the Imperial Court. Sera had left months afterwards, after an argument with Cullen had culminated into vicious words and violence.

Morrigan had left with Vivienne, but before both woman had even crossed the Orlesian border the apostate had vanished in a flutter of black feathers. No one had heard from her since, not even Empress Celene. Caelan felt uncomfortable at her sudden departure, but she and Morrigan could never have been described as friends; whatever plans the woman had, Caelan was sure she wanted to be no part of.

Varric and Blackwall had left together, united in their aim to discover just why all contact had been lost with Hawke and the Grey Wardens following their exile to Weisshaupt; Varric had initially objected to Blackwall's company, but the man had insisted that he repay his debts and, should all be well, undergo his Joining. Eventually, Varric had agreed and they left the following day.

Leliana was now Divine Victoria, and it was a very rare occasion in which they received news from her at all. Yet Caelan always extended invitations to her, should she ever have the need to travel the roads in the vicinity of Skyhold. So far, Leliana had never taken her up on her offer.

Iron Bull and the Chargers were now occasional visitors to Skyhold. They would appear at the gates at least three times a year and would stay for weeks each time, regaling everyone with tales of high adventure and even higher skirts. Caelan loved these weeks most of all, as she, Bull and Dorian would travel Ferelden together for a few days, looking to deliberately find danger and excitement.

Shaking her mind free of what she had lost, Caelan instead decided to focus on who had stayed behind; Dorian, her best friend, shadow and confidante. Very rarely did he leave her side, and when he did it was not for any long period of time. The two of them found solace in the other, and oftentimes people would talk about them under hushed whispers – rumours of a romance blossomed quickly in Solas' departure, and Dorian had, at one point in time, deliberately played up on these rumours to his own amusement. Caelan had simply laughed at how ridiculous the rumours had been: these people clearly did not know Dorian at all.

Cassandra remained at Skyhold at Caelan's request, and Skyhold had become the home of not only the Inquisition, but also of the new order of the Seekers of Truth. Cassandra was grateful of the hospitality, and whilst the two women had struggled to understand one another in the earliest days of the Inquisition, they were now not only allies but true friends.

Cullen and Josephine retained their positions in the Inquisition, though both could have easily left at any point. Caelan was thankful for their unwavering loyalty to both their cause and to her as she would have missed them both terribly should they have ever left. She had grown fond of taking evening tea with Josephine, and she enjoyed Cullen's company over games of chess.

And Cole? Her dear, precious Cole. He had become a brother to her. Most of her free time was spent with both him and Dorian, and together the three of them would simply talk or drink or dance. She helped him to tend to those who needed aid the most, and in turn he helped her to ease the pain that her nightmares created. She was in no doubt that he would seek her out soon after waking, to speak to her until she hardly remembered the night terrors, just as he did every morning.

She would like that.

The library was silent; save for the gentle caw of the birds above their heads - their cages swaying with small creaking sounds in a small breeze - they appeared to be completely alone. Leading Caelan to the nearest seat, Dorian sat her down before casting a cursory glance both above and below, checking both levels for any signs of life.

Without thinking, her eyes followed Dorian as he arched over the railings and her gaze naturally fell onto the frescoes below. Bright and vibrant, the paintings depicted her part in the Inquisition's history. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she stretched in her seat, looking even further below her to where the ghost of Solas stood. He took a few small steps away from his work, only to cast it one of his most critical of expressions. He had paint on his hands, on his ears and face, and on the rough clothes that he wore to work in.

For a single moment, she could pretend that he had never left.

A click of fingers in her ear forced her attention to shift, and the shade simply vanished before her eyes. Blinking, she turned to look back to Dorian who was now sat in the chair opposite her. They were separated by a rug and the air only, though the distance was not enough to mask his concern, not even in the dim light.

"Best not dwell, eh?"

She nodded, forcing her will to focus on the task at hand: the lump caught in her chest would surely vanish soon enough, once training had begun.

"Give me your hand."

Unbeknownst to the rest of the Inquisition, Caelan had been learning to utilise the power of her mark in other ways, now that years had passed since they had last seen a rift to close. She had been taking tuition before she sealed the Breach - again in secret - from Solas. Now that he was gone, Dorian had taken it upon himself to teach his stealthy friend just how it felt to hold a fireball in her palm.

Yet Caelan however, no matter how thankful for Dorian's tuition she may be, did not particularly wish to conjure up fires or storms in her fingertips; she wanted to use her power to heal, just as she had been learning to do with Solas. But right now, she would take any tuition that she could use – anything to give this mark a meaning again, and her a purpose.

Sitting on the Skyhold throne, just to be the authoritarian figure head of the Inquisition, was not her idea of a purpose. She wanted to be out there, helping her people to protect those who needed safety, to bring aid to those in desperate need of support.

Without rifts to close, Caelan had found herself a prisoner in her own hold. But this seeming entrapment was made all the more worse by the fact that she was now so important in the Chantry's eyes; the Herald of Andraste was now a bigger part of a religion that she wanted to be no part of. Despite Leliana's support for her freedom, Caelan knew that the rest of the Chantry was unwilling to follow the Divine's ruling, and as such she found herself under near constant protection from her own soldiers.

She had once fought alongside these brave men and women, but no more.

She _hated_ it. But she could change that, if her training went well. She could finally have a decent excuse for trying to escape the Chantry's clutches: if she could prove that she were more useful in the field than at the war table…

It was with determination that Caelan held out her marked hand to Dorian. He held in gently in his own hand, turning it so that her outstretched palm faced him. His free hand hovered just above her fingers.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

With a click, a small fire erupted from Dorian's fingers and landed in Caelan's hand. She hissed at the feeling of a prickling heat on her skin.

"Concentrate," Dorian breathed, slowly taking his own hands away from her, "feel its rhythm and heat: make it yours, and bend it to your will."

Caelan looked up from her hand, panic etched on her face; in every practice, he had never once removed his hands from hers.

"Dorian…"

He smiled. "I have faith in you."

A small smile played with her lips. "I wouldn't be so quick to put faith in me."

"And why not?"

"Because if this goes wrong, you'll be the one to catch fire with me."

Dorian grinned. "Well you had better make sure that the whole bloody affair is quite dramatic then: I'd hate to go out on a low note."

With her smile brighter than before, Caelan turned back to the small fire in her palm. It flickered expectantly – or, at least, it seemed to – and she twitched her fingers, testing the limits of her movement before she burned herself. She forced herself to focus on the heat of the flame, touching the edge of the warmth and letting it spread from her fingers and into her hand, her wrist, her arm. She flexed her fingers to match its licks against her skin.

"Do not let the flame dictate your movements," Dorian said quietly, "you need to command it."

Taking heed of his words, Caelan twisted her fingers around the fire. She teased and curled it as though it were her hair, and the heat made her feel sleepy, the dancing flame drawing her full concentration…

Such beautiful flames.

_Seth'lin var'an asha! Tu ma'bellanarris din'an… Tel'abelas.*_

The voices made her scream, and she forgot the fire in her hand that was quick to burn her. Before she could even register anything but the loud tirade of furious howls and the pain in her hand, Dorian had leapt from his seat and joined Caelan where she now sat on the floor.

"Caelan? Caelan, talk to me." She barely registered his hands on her arms. "Say something!"

"Tel'abelas… Tel'abelas…"

"Caelan!"

"Make them stop, Dorian!"

The voices… they would not stop! They screamed at her, all joining together to push the same words into her head in one unified trill. What had she done? How had she incurred such wrath?

"Caelan!" Dorian pleaded, cradling her against him in some desperate attempt to help. "What are they saying?"

A wave of calm washed over them, as a new voice spoke calmly to both mage and Inquisitor. "They say too much, but there is little sense there."

Caelan felt a new set of hands join Dorian's, though these hands were placed gently atop her head. The fingers were cool, working peaceful circles into her scalp.

"The smell of fresh paint in the crisp daylight, mingling with old books, veilfire and elfroot. The birds are smiling; they like the pictures too. He lifts his head – a smile. Thoughtful fingers leave colour on his face. He doesn't mind: it made her laugh."

"Cole…"

The blonde haired man smiled down at her, continuing his gentle ministrations. Dorian, meanwhile, had taken her hand and examined the fresh burns on her fingers.

"Are you alright?" He asked, deftly turning her hand over to examine the entirety of her damaged skin. "You gave me quiet the shock."

Caelan nodded slowly, smiling under the gentle pressure on her head; the voices were but a whisper now. "I think I just scared myself, Dorian."

"You think? You looked terrified. What happened?"

"I'm not sure, exactly," she straightened a little, and felt Cole arrange himself to move with her. "The voices – they were just so loud. So sudden."

Dorian frowned. His hands still cradled her own. "What did they say?"

Caelan thought, but try as she might she could recall nothing but one phrase. "Tel'abelas. There were other words, but that is all I remember."

"But how do you feel?"

"Now? I feel fine." She looked to the spirit-turned-man sat beside her. "With thanks to Cole."

Cole smiled in return, lifting his hands from her head. "You were hurting, and I took the pain away. It was nothing. Really!"

"You haven't been on the receiving end of one of your head massages," Dorian purred at the very thought of it. "_That_ is simply not nothing."

Cole hid his face, his cheeks burning red.

Dorian returned to inspecting Caelan's burns, until Cole suggested that they may find something to help soothe her minor injuries outside. In the end, they found a nice patch of clean snow, and the three of them sat in the cold light of the rising sun, for a time, as Caelan kept her hand buried inside a mound of crushed ice and snow. They shared their area of calm with two of the Inquisition scouts and a mage, the latter of which had pulled his hood over his head to protect him from the cold breeze: only his scruffy beard was visible as he shook with the chill. The scouts had concealed themselves against the nearest wall, huddled under their travelling cloaks, and looked to each other as though one of them would have a better suggestion with which they could stave off the cold.

As time passed, the three friends watched as Skyhold came to life around them. It was a fascinating sight, and one that Caelan so often missed as she would normally still be in bed at this hour.

"So many people, yet there is so little pain to be found." Cole smiled, looking at those that passed them from underneath the brim of his hat. "Dorian is very peaceful too."

They both looked to the mage sat beside him, and found that the man had fallen to sleep. Mouth slightly agape, face relaxed into unconscious calm, he looked to be the epitome of tranquillity. Silently, Caelan envied him.

"But you are less so," Cole said, turning back to her. "The voices. The nightmares. Twisting, turning. You call for help, but there is no one to help. They are all gone; turned into ancient things buried inside their own thoughts and dreams. No one hears you."

Caelan turned away, biting the inside of her cheek. She loved Cole, but sometimes his words brought her little comfort. His actions, however, spoke in volume about his compassion for others, just as they did now that he had taken her free hand in both of his. Caelan watched as he gently rubbed more circles into her skin, coaxing yet another smile from her lips.

Her father used to rub her hands like this, when she was cold or afraid of something in the woods. It had made her feel safe and connected, and Cole knew this all too well; he could hear it, after all.

"Long braids flying in the wind. A flash of a smile. The kindest words fall from the father's lips." He watched as his words invoked a bright light in her eyes. "The smell of the rain in the grass feels like home. An arrow flies – the clan will not go hungry for days. A child watches in awe of the father's kill. Dancers celebrate in the moonlight. Everyone is happy; tonight no one will die."

Caelan's face fell. Somewhere, in the deepest part of her mind, the unpleasant events that followed that night began to simmer.

Cole released her, jumping as though she had burned him. "I'm sorry," he breathed, shaking in the breeze. "I did not mean for your memories to go that far, I swear!"

"Cole, it's alright…"

"No! I shouldn't have pushed you." He lowered his face, hiding beneath his hat. "I'm sorry."

Caelan said nothing, but instead pulled him into a large and comforting hug.

They sat in silence, for a short time, as Caelan continued to hold Cole against her. The young man simply let her cradle him, his arms hanging uselessly by his sides. Dorian, who remained asleep, snored beside them.

"Your father was a good man," Cole finally spoke into her shoulder. "He was more scared for your safety, in the end."

"I know."

"He never had a chance to tell you how proud he was of you; and he was very proud of you."

"I know that too."

Caelan let her grip on Cole loosen and the two friends simply sat before one another, her hands in his. Cole slowly began to smile, as Caelan did, as they watched Dorian wake with a start as a chilled blast of air rushed through the courtyard.

"Damn mountain air," the mage huffed, tightening the collar around his neck. "It's too fresh if you ask me."

"It's bracing, Dorian. The best kind." She replied with a smug grin.

"Humph." He snorted before allowing his eyes to travel to her marked hand. "Let me take a look at it."

He took the offered hand as she raised it to him, inspecting every finger and crease with the utmost care.

"Remarkable," he said, "not a single burn to be seen. But you're fingers are freezing, by the way. Or are you so far gone with this 'bracing' mountain air to even notice?"

"I take it you would like to go back inside?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

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><p><em>(*) Woman of our thin blood! To cause my eternity of nothingness… I'm not sorry.<em>


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